


One Planet in All of Space

by Callie



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, F/M, s02ep06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-24 01:56:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callie/pseuds/Callie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sloan was right, but she was wrong, too--the planet doesn't have to be the one planet in all of space that's perfect; it just has to be the one planet in all of space that you can't live without.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Planet in All of Space

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cerie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerie/gifts).



> for Cerie, for her birthday! :D

Will's well aware he's been a fucking idiot. He's been a fucking idiot about a lot of things. Agreeing to go on ACN Morning was just the latest.

He isn't in the mood for _I told you so_ s, so he bypasses Hang Chew's that night in favor of a place several blocks away, not far enough to be horribly incovenient but far enough away that he shouldn't run into any other ACN employees. He'll never get anonymity, not really, but this is good enough. Hopefully no one in this bar is an ACN Morning fan. He orders a bourbon and then another, as the news on the tv at the bar goes from Jane's show to Elliot's and he sort of tunes out the world because it's a little easier that way.

"You're an idiot." MacKenzie slides onto the stool beside his and he can _feel_ her glaring daggers at him.

Will braces himself for the inevitable drink to the face. It doesn't come, but he's still wary. "There's like two thousand bars in New York City," he says, "and you came to this one."

"Not on purpose." She catches the bartender, orders her usual, and goes back to glaring daggers at him. "Although if I had known you would be here instead of at home with your lady friend, I would have gone to Hang Chew's instead."

"Yeah, well." Will fiddles with his glass, then picks it up and drains it. 

"I know I have no business asking," she says, before he even puts down his glass, "but was it her idea for you to go on ACN Morning today? Because that was the most idiotic, pandering, ridiculous bit of--"

"Yes, yes it was," Will says, cutting her off before she can really tear into him--yeah he deserves it, but he's fundamentally incapable of taking it even though he can dish it out--"it was totally her idea but I agreed to go along with it and it's just as much my fault as it is hers."

"Jesus Christ, don't take any more advice from her."

"I won't."

"I fucking mean it. Anything involving your image is my domain, not hers. And you make sure she knows it, too."

"She's not going to be giving me anymore advice--"

"She better not!"

"We broke up."

"I know we broke up, Will, you don't have to keep constantly reminding me of that--"

"No--MacKenzie--" He reaches out to grab her shoulder but thinks better of it at the last minute and drops his hand to the top of the bar. "I mean Nina and me. We broke up. I broke up with her. Today. After the morning show fiasco." And he was kind of an asshole about it and he knows it, and he knows he should apologize, but he has to scrape up a little more of his dignity before he can do that.

"Oh." The admission seems to suddenly take a little of the wind out of her sails, and she gives him an uncomfortable little shrug, like she's saying she doesn't care because she can't think of anything else to say. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he says, because while he did _like_ Nina, a lot, he didn't _love_ her and it's probably better that it ended when it did (although maybe not the _way_ it did).

"Okay, I won't be." MacKenzie sits a little straighter, her jaw firming in a stubborn hint of something that's a little smug and a little defiant. "Because I hated every minute you were with her."

 _Fair enough_ , Will thinks. "And that is how I felt about Wade."

"Point taken." MacKenzie sips at her drink and then her jaw softens a little and so does her voice, when she says, "When I said the thing about... 'you forgot you were mad at me'... I'm sorry for that. It wasn't really what I meant. I just meant that--"

"It's okay," Will interjects. "You don't have to explain. I get it." He doesn't get it, not really, but he doesn't want to talk about it and it's easier to just say _I get it_ than to let her ramble on into territory he doesn't want to cover.

"What were you doing with her anyway?"

"Well, you know, when two adults are interested in each other, they date, which generally involves going places together and spending time together, and--"

"Ugh. Stop it," she breaks in, clearly irritated with his non-answer. "You know what I mean. What were you _doing_? Why her?"

"I was being Goldilocks." Later, he's going to blame Sloan for this stupid fucking analogy, but they just had this conversation a few hours ago and it's still rattling around in his brain and he can't come up with anything better on the spot. 

"Goldilocks."

"You know, the little girl in the fairy tale, that goes in the bears' house and really ought to be arrested for breaking and entering, but that's beside the point--she tries out the porridge, and this bowl's too hot, and this bowl's too cold, and this bowl is just right. One chair is too hard, one chair is too soft, one chair is just right. One bed is too hard, one bed is too soft, one bed is just right. She keeps looking through _everything_ until she finds everything she wants that is exactly the way she wants it. Not too hot, not too cold, just right. Not too hard, not too soft, just right. She's so fucking picky! Because the real world, it isn't like that. There is nothing that is completely _just right_ in every single way. There's no _person_ that's just right in every single way. And if you keep looking, trying to find this fucking mystical person who is supposedly perfect in every single way, which doesn't exist, then you're going to miss the person who maybe isn't perfect in every single way but is perfect in all the ways that really matter and then you're just going to be fucked."

Will doesn't know where all that came from, but there it is, and he can't take it back. But it's true. Sloan was right, but she was wrong, too--the planet doesn't have to be the one planet in all of space that's perfect; it just has to be the one planet in all of space that you can't live without.

"Oh." MacKenzie sounds like she really doesn't know what to make of the word-vomit he's just spewed everywhere and to be honest, he doesn't really know what to make of it either. She looks like she's not sure what to do next, and he glances at her drink nervously in case she decides to toss it at him. But she doesn't throw it at him, and she doesn't shove him, and she doesn't smack him--actually, when she finally does something, Will's completely caught off-guard and it takes him a moment to react. "I have to go," she says, fumbling for her wallet and pulling out some cash for her drink. Her voice sounds unsteady and a little frantic and she puts down a pile of bills without looking at them. "I'm sorry. I have to go." 

And then she's off the barstool and out the door before Will can stop her.

 _Shit_.

Will throws down some money for his drinks and takes off after her, and of course, it's fucking raining so it takes him a minute to find her, almost a block away, trying to flag down a cab. She's not having any luck and that gives Will a minute to catch up with her (okay, more than a minute, because he doesn't run as fast as he used to).

"MacKenzie--"

"What do you want from me?" She abandons her efforts at cab-hailing, turning on him with a speed that's a little scary. "You can't forgive me, you can't talk to me, you can barely even _work_ with me, and now you blather on with some nonsense about a bratty little girl in a fairy tale as a way of trying to tell me that it's _okay_ that I'm not perfect, because you can make do with less than your wildest dreams? Fuck you, Will. I'm sorry it took you fucking half the women in New York City to figure out that none of them are good enough for you, but I'm not going to be your consolation prize."

He's so stunned by this that he can't think of a response (which, in and of itself, is pretty fucking rare) so he just stands there and when she finally manages to get a cab, he doesn't stop her. Because really, what did he think he was going to accomplish with that speech? Will wasn't even entirely sure what he was _saying_ , much less sure of what he actually meant by it, so how else did he expect her to take it?

His own cab ride home is a soggy and miserable experience, made worse by the fact that there's a six-car pileup a block from his building and even in the rain, he'd be better off getting out and walking than trying to wait for it to clear. Will pays the driver and gets out and it's raining hard enough that it takes a minute for him to realize that someone's shouting his name.

_MacKenzie._

She's as soaked as he is, her blouse and skirt clinging to every curve, but she doesn't seem to notice or care. She stalks right up to him and says, "What are the ways that really matter?" like she's daring him to try to weasel out of answering her.

Will doesn't want to weasel out of answering her.

"The way you used to steal the covers!" he yells at her, not because he's angry but because raining and he feels like if he doesn't yell, he'll be drowned out, not just by the rain, but by his own cowardice. "The way you would wake up in the morning with your hair all over the place and hit the snooze alarm exactly twice! The way you walk with your toes a little pointed in, the way you get gum in your hair, the way your eyes do that little crinkly thing at the corners when you laugh that makes your whole face light up, the way you call me _Billy_ and make me like it even though I hate it, the way you've turned my show into a show that's worth a damn, and the way you make me want to be a better man than I--"

Will doesn't get to finish that sentence because MacKenzie's kissing him. She's kissing him like she said _fuck you_ earlier, determined and pissed off and a little all over the place, but since he's kind of all over the place himself it kind of works out. She grabs him by the shirt and yanks him closer and he cups her face in his hands and for a moment, he doesn't give a flying fuck that it's pouring down rain or that his shoes are filling up with water or that they're out on the goddamn sidewalk where anyone can see. It doesn't fucking matter. 

"I'm coming upstairs with you," she says, between one kiss and the next, and Will doesn't argue. They drip a soggy trail across the lobby of his building and Will keeps his hand at her back so she doesn't slip on the marble, but in the elevator she's kissing him again and he's sure as fuck not going to argue with that but when they get into his apartment and she drops her purse on the floor and he peels off his jacket, he's compelled to say something.

"You're not a consolation prize," he tells her. "You're the one I can't live without."

Her eyes are round and soft and he wonders if he's said the wrong thing, and then she says " _Billy,_ " and he knows it was exactly the right thing.

"Can we not talk about it?" he asks. "Because if we talk about it, I'm going to fuck it up."

"Then we won't talk about it," she says, and starts unbuttoning her blouse.

They don't even make it to his bedroom. They only get as far as the couch before their clothes are in a puddle (literally) in the floor and MacKenzie apparently decides that's good enough, because she pushes him onto the couch and he doesn't argue, he just draws her into his lap. Her skin is cool and damp from the rain when she straddles him, but her hand around his dick is warm and soft, and it only takes a couple of strokes before he's hard enough for her liking; when she sinks onto him he's not sure whether the soft groan of pleasure is his or hers. She starts to say something and Will puts his fingers to her lips-- _we won't talk about it_ \--and she sucks his fingers into her mouth instead. He teases her lips with his fingers until they're swollen and softly pink and then he kisses her like he's making up for not kissing her for years; MacKenzie whines and grinds her hips against him until her knees are spread wide and he's buried deep inside her and the only thing he can feel besides how goddamn much he loves her is blinding, burning need. She pushes her pelvis against him with thrusts that start out slow and careful but quickly shift into shallow and needy and when he pushes his hand between them to give her more friction she takes it greedily, gripping his shoulders to give herself more leverage, harder and harder until she comes with a soft, hungry whine and her whole body clenches around him, hard, and it's so good, so fucking good, wave after wave of pleasure that he couldn't stop even if he wanted to (he doesn't) with the hot, sticky slide of their bodies coming together, together, together.

Later, they move to the bedroom, and when she's spread out on his bed Will pushes her thighs wide and presses his mouth to her clit. MacKenzie whines and squirms away from his mouth and he slides his hands under her ass, pulling her back to him; she murmurs _God, Billy, please,_ and he thinks his heart will burst from the softness and the need in her voice. She tastes like him, but he doesn't care, because that's the thing about sex with someone you love with every fiber of your being--parts of them get mixed up in you and parts of you get mixed up in them and it doesn't matter who is what or where or when, it's just that you're _there_. He licks and teases and tongues her clit until she whines and shudders and comes again, and there's nothing sweeter than that sound, except maybe when she tugs him close and whispers, "I need you," or maybe it's the little sigh she makes later, when she curls up with him and rests her head on his chest. She's always fit against him like they were made for each other. Will curls his arms around her and strokes her hair and she relaxes against him with a contented sigh.

That sound is better than the adoration of any audience, because it's from _her_.

 _Just right_.


End file.
